


We'll Get Through Somehow

by okaynextcrisis



Series: All Together Now [1]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:37:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1943178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaynextcrisis/pseuds/okaynextcrisis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very fluffy AU: no attacks, no cancer.  Commander Bill Adama and Secretary of Education Laura Roslin meet at a funeral.  Prequel to It's All Together Now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Get Through Somehow

Laura was beginning to envy the corpse.

After all, she'd had to stand outside the forum in the freezing cold for well over an hour during the public viewing, and then stand in the hot press of bodies inside the forum for another hour during the private viewing, and now she was required to sit through the entire official funeral ceremony, complete with the official eulogy, somberly delivered by President Adar. (Laura, who knew for a fact that the President had roundly despised the recently departed Quorum delegate, thought that Adar might be laying it on a little thick with his so-far forty-minute speech. Who did he think he was kidding?) When Adar finally did step down off the podium, Laura would then be required to attend the graveside ceremony, and then the official reception afterwards…

Laura  _definitely_ envied the corpse.

"Even in his later years, Delegate Umbriel remained a vital force in this government…" Adar intoned, his face set in severe lines.

Laura suppressed a snort. She was going to have to send Adar's speechwriters a basket of muffins over this one, she really was. It was a true feat of eloquence, not to mention public relations, to rebrand "irascible" and "demented" (Adar's own words) as "vital."

"He kept us advised of the old ways…"

That was true, Laura mused, if by "old ways," Adar was referring to Umbriel's habit of greeting her with a curt demand for a cup of coffee, no matter how many times she not-so-politely reminded him that she was, in fact, the Secretary of Education, and not his gods-damn assistant…

"…while never failing to adapt to change…"

Also true, Laura remembered; Umbriel had grown very good at using his brand-new phone to leave rambling, invective-laden messages for anyone with whom he was even slightly displeased. She still had one of his diatribes saved to her voicemail, in which he'd gone on for fifteen minutes straight about the inappropriate height of her heels; her sisters liked to play it at family gatherings.

"…that he gained during his simple upbringing on Virgon…"

Laura wanted to scream. If Adar was going to go all the way back to Umbriel's childhood, they were never going to get out of here. At this rate, they'd be burying him in the dark.

"…where he learned the true meaning of hard work and sacrifice…"

And she didn't even have anyone to roll her eyes at, that was the worst part. She'd been seated next to the military delegation, which formed the honor guard for the coffin; a bunch of stern, humorless officials in uniforms, so far as Laura could tell. Right next to her, for example, was a hard-faced, balding officer, so thoroughly focused on Adar's speech that…

Wait…were his  _eyes closed_?

Laughter bubbled up in her throat, and Laura pressed her lips together to suppress it, so that only a small, choked sound passed her lips. She'd always had a bad habit of getting the giggles at inappropriate times—before debate team finals in high school, at her college graduation ceremony, and, worst of all, during Adar's inaugural address—but the Secretary of Education absolutely could  _not_  afford a laughing fit in the midst of a Quorum delegate's funeral service. She simply could not. Even if the eulogy was ludicrous, and she was half-crazed by hours of the tedium of a full state funeral, and the very serious honor guard was taking the opportunity to catch a nap…

Another choked giggle escaped her.

The officer on the other side of her sleepy neighbor turned his head in her direction, his rough face tight with irritation, to give her a glare—which turned sheepish when his eyes lit on the object of her amusement. Sobriety and chagrin warred on his face, deepening the creases in his olive skin. Laura lifted her eyebrows in triumph, her eyes silently communicating her glee. His lip twisted—in amusement or annoyance, Laura couldn't tell.

She didn't know any of the members of the honor guard—she'd heard, in passing, that only senior officers were to be chosen for this dubious honor, except for those who could not be spared from their duties—so she didn't know anything about either her bored neighbor or his annoyed comrade. If it hadn't been for this accident of seating, she probably wouldn't have noticed either one of them; neither of them would have exactly stood out in a crowd. But there was something about this stranger's face, about the keen look in his bright blue eyes, that held her attention.

"…as he displayed that seriousness of mind, so vital in any public servant…" Adar droned on.

A small, peaceful snore escaped her neighbor.

Laura bit her lip in a valiant effort not to laugh.

_I apologize for him_ , her neighbor's neighbor mouthed discreetly.

Laura studied the insignia on his uniform; she was hardly an expert in military protocol, but unless she missed her guess, this man was a commander in the fleet.

_I don't blame him_ , she mouthed back, a wry smile on her face.

The commander's lip quirked.  _We had a late shift last night_ , he explained.

Laura rolled her eyes sympathetically.

The commander smiled back.

Their mutual neighbor snored again, louder this time.

She  _could not_  laugh.

Silently, Laura's new friend turned to his compatriot and, with the greatest of dignity, poked him sharply between the ribs.

His friend started out of his sleep. "What the frak—" he muttered, the invocation echoing in the respectful hush of the forum.

"…his inexhaustible service to his government.." Adar intoned, oblivious.

The commander's lips were twitching uncontrollably.

Laura bent over, her hand pressed against her mouth, trying in vain to disguise her giggles as a coughing fit.

The delegate seated in front of Laura turned around to give her a glare.

A snort escaped the commander, and Laura held her breath and tried desperately to think about something sad—war, famine, the education department's new budget—until she regained control.

Then she glanced back at the commander—and they both had to turn away again to smother their laughter.

* * *

The honor guard hoisted the coffin, Umbriel's mortal remains, entombed in flag-draped oak, resting on perfectly starched uniformed shoulders. Laura watched with more than polite interest as her commander and his sleepy friend—a colonel, Laura could tell from his insignia, now that she could see him better—carried their no-doubt-heavy burden with ceremonial slowness, all the way to the cemetery. There was no sign on either of their faces that they had anything but the utmost respect for the proceedings. Laura was grateful; if the commander had had even the barest hint of humor in his eyes just then, she knew she wouldn't have been able to hold it together.

Then came the burial, where Laura stood under the pavilion with the rest of the Cabinet, the hem of her black dress fluttering wildly in the icy wind, as the last prayers were said over Delegate Umbriel. She couldn't help but cast her eyes over the coffin to where the honor guard stood, seeking out the commander, a now-familiar face in a sea of gray uniforms. His expression was perfectly respectful, but when Laura caught his eye and lifted her eyebrows, as the rituals went on and on, she saw his lip twitch—just a fraction—in response. She looked away, quickly, before her giggles had a chance to reassert themselves.

Eventually, the final rites were completed, and Delegate Umbriel was laid to rest…and not a moment too soon, in Laura's opinion.

She walked back from the cemetery, lagging behind the others a bit. Her long day wasn't over, of course. She still had the reception to get through, which Laura strongly suspected would be about as fun as dental surgery. But at least the funeral itself was done with…

"We survived," said a deep voice from behind her. Laura had never heard it before, but somehow she knew to whom it belonged.

She could feel a smile tugging at her lips.

"We did," she agreed, as the commander fell into step beside her. "But it was a near thing."

The commander snorted. "I've never sat through anything so interminable in all my life," he admitted. "Not that I wasn't honored to be invited," he added, an uncertain shadow crossing his face.

Laura leaned closer, her shoulder brushing his. "I'm fairly certain that  _no one_  wanted this particular honor," she confided in a conspiratorial whisper. "How did you pull this duty, anyway?"

The commander's face had gone stern. "He was my father."

Laura's face fell. "You're joking."

The commander's lips quirked. "Yes," he admitted, his stern face breaking into a smile.

Laura laughed out loud, and her new friend's smile broadened.

"So why are you here, then?" he asked. "If you didn't want to be here, either."

"All Cabinet members are expected to attend these things," Laura explained.

The commander's face was blank.

"I'm Laura Roslin," she introduced herself, holding out her hand. "The Secretary of Education."

He took her hand, and Laura couldn't help the rush of… _something_  that shot through her chest. "Bill Adama," he said softly, his eyes intent on hers. "Commander of the battlestar Galactica."

He was still holding her hand.

"I suppose you have your ship to get back to, then," Laura said at last.

Bill released her. "Not till tomorrow," he said. "I suppose you have somewhere to be?"

"I'm expected to attend the official reception," Laura said, feeling an unexpected pang of regret.

"That's too bad," Bill remarked, as they walked slowly back through the cemetery. "Funerals always make me hungry. I don't know this part of Caprica City very well, though."

"There's a noodle place just a few blocks away," Laura replied, the wind cooling her flushed cheeks. "It's not fancy, but the food's good. You can even walk there."

Bill nodded. "I might give it a try, then," he said. "Good luck with the reception."

The reception. That was, of course, the only thing to do. She couldn't possibly skip the reception, not when the rest of the Cabinet was going to be in attendance. She was the Secretary of Education, after all. She could hardly ignore her official obligations in order to go running off with some man she'd just met. Even if, Laura mused, the man in question had nice eyes, and a good voice, and made her laugh, and…

"Of course," she said, her tone deliberately nonchalant, "it would be perfectly acceptable for me to arrive a little late…if something important came up."

The sun came out in Bill's eyes, lighting up his whole face. He offered her his arm. "It has," he promised.

Somehow, as they walked out of the cemetery together, Laura didn't doubt it.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't mean to write this, I really didn't, but once I wrote them a wedding reception, I couldn't stop thinking about how they would have met, and...oops?
> 
> Disclaimer: Bill and Laura belong to Ron Moore; the title belongs to Patrick and Eugene.


End file.
